


I Ask Forgiveness

by kayura_sanada



Series: For Good [28]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Frottage, Idiots in Love, M/M, Oral Sex, Return Of the Sub-Plot, Spirit of Faith - Freeform, Threats, WAFF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-04-04 16:07:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14023830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayura_sanada/pseuds/kayura_sanada
Summary: Danarius is gone, yet still one personal threat remains. Soon, they will face Azzan’s stalker once more.





	I Ask Forgiveness

At first, Azzan’s dreams were peaceful. They swept by in a haze of blue and green, bright, cloudy images that swirled around him. A blur of touches and feelings, and the knowledge that he was loved.

The green started changing, just a bit, in tone; instead of Fenris’ forest-green eyes, it changed to something brighter, less natural. He recognized the colors of the Fade just as a dream solidified before him. It crept into his mind, burned back far enough to reach the edges of his memories. He found himself standing in The Hanged Man, the familiar tables lined up in such as way as to block his path to Fenris’ side. Fenris, who, instead of holding Danarius up in his hand, was held up by Danarius’, instead. Even though he knew this was a dream, the panic settled deep into his gut.

Fenris’ greatest fear was happening right in front of his eyes, and tables – _tables_ – were in his way. He reached out with his magic and placed a barrier around Fenris, unable to do much else from so far away. He hopped on the tables and ran forward. The tables wobbled with every step, hindering his progress.

Danarius turned to look at him, a dark hood over his eyes, until all Azzan could see was the dark tan of his skin as he held Fenris in one hand. “Hold him still.”

Azzan couldn’t move. He froze atop one of the tables and, teetering, came to rest, his legs frozen in a crouch, his hands trapped, forever steadying him where he knelt. He strained against the bonds ensnaring him. Nothing. _Faith!_

It was a nightmare. Still, Faith came at his call, returning from the slumber from which it’d sunk at his behest, when he’d woken to Fenris’ gaze upon him. It was a constant presence, waxing and waning within him now. When it surged forward, purging his body of the nightmare’s grip on him, it was as if a light shone in the back of his eyes, golden as Andraste’s crown. It seared through him, so bright and warm it nearly burned.

“I didn’t want this,” the man in front of him said. Fenris reached up to grab the hand holding him. His clawed fingers scraped at the dark skin as the barrier cracked. “I told you I would always be here.” The man’s grip on Fenris tightened. Fenris’ hold went slack. The barrier shattered.

“No!” With no time left, he spat out the golden energy in every direction, willing it to reach Fenris in time. “Don’t touch him!”

He shot up in his bed, his arm reaching out even before he opened his eyes. He shivered as his bare skin hit the open air. His hand slipped back down to his side. That was when he turned his head and found his bed to be empty.

Oh.

His breath caught in his throat. Suddenly his body felt too heavy for him to lift. He sagged against the headboard, his gaze never leaving the empty spot on his bed. Even though the sun streamed through his window, telling him time had passed, he thought he could still feel Fenris’ hands on his skin, the wet touch of his tongue along the ridges of his chest and abdomen. His body still tingled from the aftershocks of Fenris’ lovemaking, so different than the time before. Yet, apparently, not so very different, after all.

He’d known he loved Fenris more than Fenris could love him. He just hadn’t known he would be faced with being alone again.

He closed his eyes.

“Hawke?!”

His door slammed open. By the time he opened his eyes, Fenris was already storming up to the bed. The pain settling into his chest burst so suddenly it hurt all over again. “Fenris?”

Fenris knelt on the side of the bed and touched Azzan’s cheek, turning his gaze to face him squarely. “Are you all right?” Fenris asked. His eyes were so close they nearly merged into one. Azzan’s breath stilled.

Oh.

“You’re…” He didn’t want to finish the sentence, to make Fenris aware of just how low he’d fallen simply at seeing that Fenris had already woken and left the bedroom. He tried to get himself under control. It was harder when his tear ducts wanted to rebel.

Fenris wiped at his cheek with his thumb, even though it remained dry. “I’m still here,” he said, and kissed Azzan’s brow. Azzan breathed deep of Fenris’ cinnamon scent. For a moment, he thought again of his dream, of the idea of Danarius trying to take this man away. The knowledge that Danarius was dead shook him. The relief lasted until he thought of the rest of his dream. Then he shuddered.

“A nightmare,” Fenris said, his voice a slow murmur. He pulled back. “Did you dream of the mage? The one who’s been sending you letters?”

Azzan was surprised Fenris brought the man up. But of course Fenris remembered the mage who had defeated them. Fenris rarely forgot magic-users.

The truth was that Azzan rarely went a few days without a dream of that man. Even with Faith, the demons sniffed out his fear far too easily. That man still took up too much of his life. He still couldn’t go outside without at least Aegis as his escort, and had grown too uncomfortable with the thought of that mage watching him. He didn’t go out as much anymore. Soon, he would be a prisoner of not just Kirkwall, but of his own home. What would happen to him then? He didn’t want to become someone who hid away. But he still remembered the overpowering force of the man’s demon. He knew better than to think he could simply face the man and get away with it. He looked at Fenris. If he said yes, would Fenris let it go? No; that wasn’t in Fenris’ nature.

A half-truth, then. “I dreamed of the day before yesterday. In the tavern. If things had gone differently – if I hadn’t been there, or if I hadn’t shown up in your house, or if I just didn’t get to you in time.”

Fenris seemed to think over Azzan’s words for a minute. Then he crawled, fully clothed, onto Azzan’s bed. He straddled Azzan’s waist and sat down. Azzan was instantly distracted. “It seems unreal to me, as well,” he said finally. Those armored fingers ghosted over Azzan’s cheeks, down to the rough line of his jaw, before burying themselves in his hair. With his thumbs, Fenris forced Azzan’s gaze to stay on his. “But he is not here any longer. Danarius has no hold over us anymore.”

 _Us_. Azzan opened his mouth to correct Fenris, only to have the elf lean in and kiss him. With a whimper, Azzan reached up to pull him closer.

Danarius had never hurt Azzan. He was not Azzan’s tormentor. But that didn’t mean that he hadn’t haunted Azzan’s every step, or that he hadn’t been a man Azzan had hated and feared. The idea of it nearly scratched him from within, like a wound he’d never allowed himself to feel until help had already arrived to save him. He tilted his head and gave Fenris full access to him, tried to speak without words his terror, his remorse, his almost surprised exaltation. His fingers slid along the lines of lyrium in Fenris’ skin, and once more he felt the pulse of power like some sort of current inside his skin. He quickly slid his fingers to the base of Fenris’ neck, only to find more lyrium there. He groaned. His dick jumped.

Finally Fenris pulled back, and Azzan couldn’t help the words that slipped from his mouth. “I love you.”

Fenris smiled. It crinkled his eyes until they shone, as if something within them had been pressed into precious stone. “And I you.”

Azzan’s heart took flight. Fenris loved him, as much as Fenris could. That was good enough for him.

* * *

They ate breakfast, Orana clearly making some effort to fix up Azzan’s favorites, for reasons he couldn’t get the woman to explain. Fenris, simply ate quietly, watching the interactions between the two of them. Azzan didn’t know what the elf would think of it; no matter how informal Azzan tried to be, Orana never reciprocated. She still called him master, no matter how it made him wince, and insisted she be allowed to continue serving him, even after he and Fenris had both received their food. As usual, Orana took her own food down in the kitchen, leaving him and Fenris to the dining room.

“She’s more comfortable like this,” Azzan said, his gaze wary as he watched Fenris over the top of his meal. Scrambled eggs and ham sat half on top of one another, making room for the potato cuts his mother had taught Orana to make. He saved the cuts for last, as always, and mixed more egg with more ham, ready for Fenris to flay him for letting Orana remain more as a slave than a servant.

Fenris tilted his head. “I know,” he said, and continued eating.

Azzan’s fork squeaked along the plate.

Well. He looked down, then back up. Really? Nothing else? No talk about how Azzan should have gotten her to stop calling him master by now, or a sharp comment about ceding the dining room to her? He chewed his bottom lip for a few moments before finally cutting off a slice of ham. He watched Fenris carefully as he ate, but still the elf said nothing. He finally shrugged and continued eating.

Conversation eventually turned, oddly enough, to Bodahn and Sandal. At first, it was simply a comparison to the feel of Hawke’s home versus Fenris’ mansion – “that mansion really is yours, now, you know; it was one owned by a merchant of Danarius’, and with Danarius dead, the merchant likely can’t _afford_ to try to reclaim it” – and had begun shifting to their impending departure. Fenris wanted to know a specified date as to when they’d be leaving. After admitting he didn’t know, he watched Fenris lean on the table and grimace. He dared reach out his hand to meet Fenris’. That bright green gaze rose to his. “Tell me what you need,” Azzan said.

Fenris sighed. He stared at their joined hands for a moment before turning his over and grasping Azzan’s. “I think… I need a few days.”

Azzan held his breath. It seemed strange to hear the words now; he’d gone through the first hours of the day ready for Fenris to back away again, but after they’d passed, he’d let himself think this would go differently. Apparently not. “All right.”

Fenris scowled. His fingers gripped Azzan’s so tightly the metal claws of his gauntlet dug into Azzan’s skin. “That’s not what I mean.” That deep voice sank into a growl. “Don’t let go of me so easily, Hawke.”

Azzan sucked in a breath. His fingers spasmed around Fenris’. Right. Fenris didn’t want this to be any more fleeting than Azzan did. What would Azzan want to hear, then? No; he would want to hear Fenris tell him he didn’t want Azzan to go. Something else, then. “I don’t want to hold you down or keep you with me if you want to go. But I will be here. Always.”

Fenris closed his eyes. When he opened them, there was something like steel in them. “You never make anything simple, do you?” He smiled. That steel didn’t dim in the slightest. “I am yours, Hawke. I will never part from your side forever. Not until death parts us. I need only prepare for a few days. I wasn’t exactly thinking that things between us would move like this.”

Azzan blinked. “Wait – you’re, what? Moving in?”

Fenris blushed. “Maybe not that far,” he said. “But I should be able to stay if… if I wish.”

Azzan tilted his head. There was more to what the elf was saying, but he didn’t want to push. Whatever it was, Fenris didn’t want to bring it up. Besides, Azzan couldn’t help but feel a bit flushed, himself, thinking about Fenris moving some of his clothes into Azzan’s closet and bureau, perhaps bringing whetstones in and leaving them on the mantle, caring for his sword in front of the hearth as Azzan read in the library. It seemed so… domestic. He smiled at the thought.

It also made him happy that Fenris believed he was in his right to make Azzan’s home his own. It felt like some cold, empty place in the building was finally being filled.

“It will only be a few days,” Fenris said, as if to beat the words into Azzan’s head. “And if anything happens, come get me.”

A few weeks ago, Azzan might have had reason to worry over Fenris’ words. The past few, however, had been a riot of mage-templar hate, and a sudden influx in problems for his friends had risen up, as well. As usual, the old adage ‘when it rains, it pours’ had once again sent a deluge onto Azzan’s head. “So if I _happen_ to find myself in _some_ _happenstance_ , come get you.”

“If you need me, yes,” Fenris said, barely grimacing at Azzan’s pun. He would have to step up his game.

“What if you _get the_ need _le?”_ he asked.

Fenris closed his eyes. He ducked his head. His shoulders shook. _“Hawke.”_

Azzan grinned. Victory. “Am I _needling_ you?”

“ _Stop.”_

“I take it my jokes are _a stitch in the side?_ ” He sighed dramatically. “And here I was hoping to have you _in stitches.”_

Fenris groaned. He planted his free hand on the table and, ignoring their empty plates of food, crawled onto the table to take Azzan’s lips into a kiss. Azzan leaned forward, trying to take Fenris’ weight, unsure of how sturdy the table was but fairly certain it couldn’t take Fenris’ weight for long. Fenris used Azzan’s preoccupation to plunge his tongue into Azzan’s mouth. He jerked where he stood, his fingers clenching around the hard metal of Fenris’ gauntlet. He reached up to hold Fenris’ shoulder. Fenris’ tongue licked deep, delving back to the base of Azzan’s own. Playing. Just as Azzan moved to return the action, Fenris retreated. The elf slid off the table and smirked up at him. “Wouldn’t you rather me _without a stitch on?”_

Azzan blinked once before a peal of laughter broke out of him. He held his side with his free hand; Fenris held the other still as he leaned his head on Fenris’ shoulder. “By the Maker. I can’t believe you.” He tilted his head to press a kiss on Fenris’ armored shoulder. Even though his lips didn’t touch skin, he felt Fenris shiver beneath him. “I love you.”

He could imagine the roll of Fenris’ eyes. Still, the elf placed his free hand on the back of Azzan’s head, cradling it against him. “So you keep saying, Hawke.”

“It keeps being true.” Fenris huffed. They stood like that for some time, though, so he couldn’t have truly minded. By the time they parted, Azzan felt a little less tremulous. Fenris didn’t seem to want to leave for good.

A few days might help them fall into whatever new routine this change in their relationship would take them to. Fenris couldn’t be comfortable with just moving in to Azzan’s home, even if he seemed to be adjusting to the idea of Azzan touching him far more readily than Azzan had predicted. “Is there anything you need to do today?” Fenris asked.

Azzan shook his head. He thought of what he’d been fearing that morning, of trapping himself in his own home. “I’m just going to visit Gamlen today.” Seeing Fenris and Varania had reminded Azzan that he still had family left, even if it was an uncle who had never had a kind word for him. He’d told Fenris that Varania was his family. Gamlen was Azzan’s.

Fenris nodded his head slowly. “All right.” He looked at their plates. “I’ll get those,” Fenris said, but Azzan had already moved to do so. Fenris grabbed his up before Azzan could, and together, they traipsed through the hall to the kitchen. Orana jumped up as they entered. Azzan noted she hadn’t eaten much, and let Fenris take his plate from his hand to go speak with her.

“Are you all right?” He gently blocked her access to the counter. Behind him, he heard Fenris dip his hands into the water bucket. Orana would have already filled it to prepare to rinse the dishes. “You haven’t eaten.”

“I’m fine, master. You needn’t be concerned over me.”

“You know it’s not need that compels me. And you don’t have to call me master. You’re not a slave.” He leaned down a bit so he could see her face. Beneath that thick eyeshadow, her eyes look darkened by shadows. “Fenris and I are leaving for a few hours. Well. Fenris will be gone for a few days, and I’m heading to Gamlen’s. Please take the time to rest while we’re away.” Orana blinked wide eyes at him. “Will you do that for me?” Very slowly, Orana nodded. She looked over to Fenris for a moment before looking back at him. “Thank you,” Azzan said, and meant it. He turned to Fenris just in time to catch the elf turning back to the dishes. He wondered what Fenris had thought of the display. “I’m going to get dressed and then head out. I’ll see you later?”

Fenris tilted his head. “You will.”

“Great.” It felt awkward to just head out, as if they were in some routine when they were so far from anything of the sort. But Fenris needed his space, and seeing Gamlen was the perfect opportunity to let him get it without making it seem like he was disrupting Azzan’s schedule. Whatever schedule that might have been.

He was giving himself a headache.

He stared at Fenris’ back for several moments, caught in the moment, trapped at the sight of Fenris, fully armored, scrubbing their breakfast plates in his kitchen. It felt… it felt… he sighed. It felt ridiculously domestic.

He was so happy his chest hurt.

He clutched at the pain, willing it to calm, or to at least feel pleasant. Finally, defeated, he walked away.

It felt too good. It was too nice. This feeling felt too fugacious to allow for calm.

* * *

Learning he had a cousin was almost as wonderful as learning she wanted to get to know him better. He traded letters back and forth with her those first couple of days as things between himself and Fenris settled into a new sort of pattern. Fenris came to visit him for dinner that first night, having traveled with Azzan for the better part of the day despite their efforts, thanks to Charade’s runaround. Afterward, however, he’d returned to whatever preparations he had to complete.

Perhaps it was for the best, because strewn amidst all of the letters from Charade were letters from his admirer. The man didn’t seem to be on stable ground anymore. Azzan was certain the mage had found out about the change in his relationship with Fenris, although they’d been careful in public to not make it obvious. There was no other reason for him to be writing things like, “You’ll beg on your knees for me to join you,” in one letter and then pull an “I understand; I waited too long, didn’t I? We’ll be together soon, and then everything will turn out right” in the next. The newest, and the third sent to him in less than three days, proclaimed the man to be Azzan’s closest friend, and that they would meet each other again soon for Azzan’s final test. He read through the letter several times before silently placing it to the side and picking up the newest note from his cousin.

The note told him how she’d first learned of him. Apparently, she’d first truly gotten a good look at him when working with the Red Jennies to see him cleaning out the docks one night. He remembered a Red Jenny handing him money for the work and wondered at it. Had he been so close to Charade even back then, when he’d first accepted such work? Had he actually accepted the money from Charade herself and not even known?

He bit his lip. The Red Jennies were known to work underground. No one knew who Red Jenny was, or how her operatives did what they did. But they did know that Red Jenny got things done. Learned things.

He looked back at the note he’d just received from the mage. Was it too much to hope that Charade could help him with this?

It was worth it. Even if she declined, or if she failed to find out anything. If this mage intended to meet with him again soon, then he would have to take anything he could get.

Besides, he thought, his lips thinning as he grabbed a new piece of parchment, if this person had found out about Azzan’s feelings for Fenris, then it was only a matter of time before his dream became a reality. He wouldn’t let Fenris get pulled into this.

The next couple of days passed in a haze of heightening tension. Kirkwall felt about to burst; mages and templars hissed on either side of an ever-fraying fence. He felt it like a storm bubbling across the fibers of his flesh. Faith sat at the edge of his mind, watching everything with the calm surety of a spirit that knew change was coming. Faith actually took comfort in it; the stagnancy of his world sometimes got to the spirit, while he took comfort in it. Life had finally worked out for him with Fenris. He should have known that would mean everything else would fall apart.

* * *

Azzan walked around outside alone for the first time since he’d gone to see Gamlen; Aegis was his only companion, and the mabari was excited for the chance to run around and check things out. The tension was stronger than ever. Kirkwall was a pot still on the stove, about to bubble over. He didn’t think he alone could stop it from spilling. He also didn’t think there was anyone left who wanted to save it.

He’d just come back from speaking with Anders. From helping the man with something he still knew nothing about, because Anders no longer trusted him with the information. He couldn’t help but feel that he’d made some great and terrible mistake. He’d pressed Anders for information, only to be accused of not truly caring about mages at all. How could Anders ever think that of him? Considering who he was, what he’d been through. All he’d done. Why would Anders push him the way he had, if he hadn’t planned something Azzan would never stand for?

 _Vengeance_.

Faith whispered the name to him. That was her name for Anders. She didn’t see him as anything more than the demon living inside of him. Perhaps there was nothing else left. Anders had said he was nothing but the cause for mage freedom, that there was nothing else inside of him. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps he had been consumed.

It was enough to make Azzan fear, as well. He didn’t want to be a monster. He didn’t want to have his fears and desires twisted up until they turned Faith into a demon. He’d told Faith, once, that he would teach it about emotions. Sometimes, he feared he was only teaching himself how little he knew.

He headed to the Gallows, unsure of why he was going there but knowing he needed to go, anyway. The templars wouldn’t be thrilled to see him; they’d locked the mages up in their quarters, so he was the only mage able to openly walk the roads of Kirkwall. Meredith, though she often stated she tolerated his continued freedom, sent so many looks and veiled threats – if they were veiled at all – that her true feelings on the subject were plain. Showing his face in the Gallows was the least intelligent thing he could do, especially alone. Still, that was what he did.

He was lucky; when he arrived, it was Cullen standing before the Circle, his arms crossed as he spoke to a few templars. They each turned as he came near. Aegis lifted his head high, his claws clacking on the stones of the street as he planted his feet with each step, ready to pounce should the need arise.

Cullen looked up, his gaze going dark as he recognized Azzan. He waved away his men. Several looked up, saw Azzan coming, and reached for their swords. “Stand down,” Cullen ordered. He stepped forward. “Hawke.” The man narrowed his gaze. “What brings you here?”

Cullen didn’t trust him, either. Hawke took a deep breath. He actually considered warning the man about Anders’ strange activities. But if he did, they would consider it a chance to grab Darktown’s dear healer – what little healing he still did – and drag him off into the Circle. Under Meredith, what were the chances that Anders _wouldn’t_ be made Tranquil? Azzan shuddered at the thought. No one, not even the man stalking Azzan, deserved such a thing.

“I just came to see how you were doing,” Azzan said. It was so far from the truth that he barely managed to hide a wince at his own words. Cullen looked about as convinced as Azzan himself. Azzan cast a glance toward Cullen’s allies. It meant something that the man had called off his fellow templars, at least. Even if it was because Azzan had been gaining more and more traction with the noble class, it meant something. Maybe, if he breached this gap, there might still be some hope. “And to share some information.” At Cullen’s cocked brow, he continued. “The one who massacred the LaDeirns and Knight Templar Addison just sent me a letter stating his intention to give me some final test soon.”

Cullen waved his men back entirely and stepped forward. He dipped his voice low. “Why? He’s been sending you letters for years now without a move.”

Azzan’s gut twisted around itself. He’d gone to Cullen with the information a few months after it had begun, believing him to be the only templar he could even remotely trust. After that bit of news, however, they’d barely touched on the subject. Not much had changed. He’d handed the ear to Aveline, who may or may not have included the templars in the search. Since then, Cullen was right: little had changed. Until now. Until Fenris.

Azzan opened his mouth to explain said change, only to stop. He hadn’t yet brought it up to Varric and his other friends; how could he begin to tell Cullen? He closed his mouth again and grimaced. “I have… I’m in a relationship now,” he said, giving half the information necessary. Cullen hissed.

“Well. I’m not going to tell you you shouldn’t have, because that’s not how this should work, but dammit, Hawke.” The man sighed and scratched his head. “What kind of test?”

“I don’t know. But he’ll be there, wherever it is. I’m telling you,” he hesitated, then, “I’m telling you in case I fail. If I do, my friends’ safety is forfeit.”

Cullen frowned. “You’re friends with at least one mage, Hawke.”

“And the person who would kill them is also a mage. The difference is that the one who would hunt them has already killed innocents. My friends haven’t.” Azzan stared Cullen down. “I’m asking you to protect people whose only crime is being friends with me. It’s up to you to choose what the templars stand for.”

Cullen’s eyes narrowed. “Watch it, Hawke.”

“You stand with Meredith despite the things she’s done. You say it’s necessary. Look around you. Look at how far things have fallen. How _necessary_ is all this?” Hawke took a deep breath. Cullen was a good man, but he was so focused on what mages _could_ do that he failed to critique what the templars _already_ did. “This isn’t what I came here for. I’m sorry.” He held up a hand and backed away. “Just. The way things are going… I’m trying to keep it all from blowing over, but if I fail this test, I might not be able to.” Because he’d be dead. “So just. Be careful.” He turned to leave.

“Hawke.”

He turned back to find Cullen’s hand reaching out to him. The man pulled it back when Azzan responded to him. “I’ll look after them,” he said. He did an acceptable job trying to hide his grimace, too. “And the same goes for you. No matter how I feel about you being free, you’ve done this city good. It can’t afford to lose you.”

It was as close to a ringing endorsement as he was likely to get from a templar. Azzan inclined his head. “Thank you, Cullen.”

He headed away from the docks. Too many eyes watched him, glaring holes into his back. It was only a matter of time before someone acted against him. He could feel it in his bones.

* * *

He stopped off at The Hanged Man, but for once, Varric had been forced to actually do work; he was busy completing revisions to his story and sending them in to his editor. Isabela was out, for once, as well, though the bartender told him her young elven friend had come in to see her. Azzan hoped things were going well for Isabela and Merrill. With both of them out, however, he found himself floundering for something to do to keep him away from his home. He considered going down to Anders’, but the thought of returning to his old friend then burned. He didn’t want a reminder of how Anders had used him. Resigned, he returned to his estate.

Aegis stopped as they reached the estate door. Azzan, tired, still didn’t miss the new letter hanging off the wall. He closed his eyes and willed himself strength. Faith was the one to supply it for him.

He picked up the letter and, without even entering his home, opened it, steeling himself for whatever lay inside.

_I protected your elven harlot. This test will be fair. I’ll see you soon._

Elven harlot.

He held his breath, not trusting his control. He folded the letter back up and opened the door. Aegis waited for him to enter before slipping inside, himself.

Azzan closed the door, leaned his head against it, and breathed.

Elven harlot. That sold it; his stalker knew. He crushed the letter in his hand. They hadn’t been careful enough. What would happen now? Would his stalker’s attention turn to Fenris? Would Fenris be caught in the crossfire? Would he die because Azzan wasn’t strong enough?

He’d trained for the past three years. Would he be able to stop this before it went too far?

 _Fenris._ Maker, what had he done?

Carefully, he uncrumpled the letter and read it again. At least his stalker had chosen to protect Fenris one last time instead of attacking him. That meant he still had a chance. Didn’t it? He took several deep breaths, until he could pull on some semblance of calm. He still had this test before things went out of control. Maybe if he kept a distance between himself and Fenris, if he pulled this one moment around…

He choked on his next breath. Tears sprang to his eyes. No. He didn’t want to let go. He already had so little. He didn’t want to lose Fenris yet.

He knew it was inevitable. Eventually, Fenris would have to choose between his feelings for Hawke and his fear of magic. Eventually, Fenris would recognize that Hawke was intrinsically linked to his magic, and he would think of Hawke as a danger, just like every other mage. For now, he was an exception. But for how long? Until he did what? How many times had Fenris taken a step back when Hawke showed too much of his relationship with Faith? How long before Fenris feared the link they now shared?

He only had so long before Fenris found something inexcusable in him and left once more. But he could handle that – he could survive that – so long as Fenris was safe and free. So long as he had whatever time they had together, until Fenris decided he would be better off elsewhere. He wanted at least a few weeks. A few months. As much time as he could get.

He closed his eyes. That was such a selfish choice, when Fenris’ life was on the line. Wouldn’t it be better to let Fenris go now, to turn him away while Fenris still thought kindly of him? Before this stalker held Fenris still and ripped his organs from his still-breathing body.

A whimper slipped through his lips. Tears fell down his face. He was going to lose Fenris already. The world already felt so vast and empty. He didn’t want to do it.

He lifted his chin and wiped his eyes. This was for the best, right? Fenris already hated magic. This would never have worked.

Their morning together slid into his mind. He could remember every touch of Fenris’ fingers on his skin. Despite himself, he found himself crying again. No. No, this wasn’t for the best. He loved Fenris. Fenris loved him, as much as Fenris ever could. Fenris had chosen him as his exception. Fenris had chosen to love him despite his magic. What little love Azzan could grasp, he wanted to hold on to. He wanted to be selfish. He wanted Fenris. Maker, he didn’t want to let go.

“ _Don’t let go of me so easily, Hawke.”_

He gasped. That was right. This wasn’t his decision to make. If he gave up on Fenris, Fenris would be furious with him. And he’d be right. He’d just gained his freedom and rid himself of Danarius. He deserved to choose what he did about Hawke’s stalker, too.

Faith spoke up from the back of his mind. “ _I pity your folly, but still more do I pity those whose lives you have taken in pursuit of selfish goals.”_

“It’s not my choice,” Azzan said, his teeth gritted. “It’s Fenris’. And we both know he’d choose to stay. If I know that, and I ignore his desires, how am I any different than all the others in his life who made his decisions for him?”

He wanted to see him. He wanted to see Fenris so badly it burned in his chest. If going out to Fenris hadn’t made their relationship even more obvious to the stalker, he would have gone. Instead he clenched his hands into fists again, almost jumping at the sound of the letter crumpling once more. He forced himself to stay where he was. Aegis came to him, standing before him in concern as he tried to get himself under control.

For over three years, he’d catered to this madman’s desires, all the time trying to find a way to be stronger than he’d been, a way to get away from him before it was too late. Now he was trapped between this new development and this test. If he ignored the warning or failed the test, he would find himself coming up against this person soon. If he was going to stay with Fenris, this would be the choice he would inevitably have to make. But right now? With everything in Kirkwall falling apart? Did he want to pick yet another fight? He’d gotten through this for over three years; what was another month or so?

But the thought of pushing Fenris away, or of continuing to hide what they’d become to each other, felt _wrong._ He couldn’t explain it outside of that. His relationship with Fenris wasn’t something to be ashamed of, or something unacceptable. It was the best thing that had happened to him since coming to Kirkwall. He wanted to touch Fenris in public, to stand close to him when they walked through the city. He wanted to smile and laugh with him without wondering who was watching or what they might think. He wanted…

He wanted freedom.

“Fenris,” he whispered. Fenris had to have hated these past few days, keeping something in his life secret. What had he thought while Azzan hid what had changed even from their friends? For him, it hadn’t been a desire to hide it from them as much as a desire to have it all to himself without their light-hearted teasing. As much as he loved his friends, he already knew very well what they thought of Fenris – Varric and Anders had already made their opinions plain years ago, even – and he just… he’d wanted to have some time to get used to things, to settle into this new role, before having to hear peoples’ concerns. Varric would be the first to point out Fenris’ continued hatred of magic, if Anders managed to keep himself silent on the subject. (Which wasn’t likely.) Anders would go so far as to call it abusive. He’d just wanted some time to enjoy what he could before he heard his own thoughts echoed in their voices. He’d wanted some happiness.

For Fenris, however, it might have been something completely different. Had he been happy keeping their relationship a secret? He couldn’t have.

Azzan covered his face. Aegis leaned up on his legs, safe from pushing Azzan over with the door at Azzan’s back. He leaned down and hugged the mabari tight. Aegis whimpered and sniffed his face. “What do I do?” he whispered. He slid down until he was sitting. Aegis stood on his chest, ruining his robes. He rubbed his cheek into the mabari’s fur as Aegis rested his massive weight down, until the canine was lying down on top of him.

He knew Fenris would be all for fighting the mage, despite how things had gone last time. Even though Azzan could still remember how easily he’d been subdued, how quickly the others had been distracted. If they didn’t manage to soothe this man like he had last time, what would stop him from killing not just Azzan, but everyone? What would stop him from killing Fenris?

But if they didn’t, how long would they have to live in the shadows?

He would speak with Fenris about it. He knew how that would go, but… but it was something he simply had to do. He didn’t want to put their lives on the line simply because he thought he knew what Fenris wanted. He didn’t want Fenris to be put in danger at all, certainly not for him, but if it was going to happen…

If it was going to happen, then they would do it together. Always.

* * *

Fenris arrived at his door that evening.

Azzan heard the knock on his door several hours after the sun had gone down. Sandal was being tucked in by Bodahn, so Azzan had left his desk in the library and gone to get the door himself. Soon, after all, he would have to do so on his own all the time, or else hire someone for the job. Orana had enough on her plate without taking over the full running of the house.

He’d opened the door to find Fenris standing before him, a sack and several parcels in his hands. Azzan opened his mouth. “we need to talk,” Fenris said. Azzan’s mouth clicked closed. His chest tightened up. Talk. Right. Wordlessly, he stepped aside and ushered Fenris in. He closed the door quietly behind him.

Fenris moved only a few short steps into the house, not even crossing through the lobby into the main room. Azzan’s throat clenched until he could hardly breathe. Fenris wasn’t even coming fully into the house. What did he have to say that he didn’t even want to come further in? Did he just want to speak his mind and then leave? Perhaps he’d read everything wrong. Perhaps there would be no need for his own conversation with Fenris, after all.

“So far,” Fenris said, “I’ve let this continue.” Azzan stopped breathing. “This silence we’ve chosen. Because I knew where it was coming from.” Fenris turned to him, those green eyes hard. “We’ve let ourselves run for too long. Danarius is dead, Hawke. I have no intention of running anymore.”

Azzan’s mouth worked for a few seconds. Fenris narrowed his eyes. “I…” He almost spoke of his fears, of what he’d thought Fenris might have been doing. But that didn’t matter at the moment, and Fenris didn’t need to know that Azzan was ready for the moment Fenris would turn away. “I agree.”

Fenris stopped leaning toward him and rocked back. “What?” His gaze narrowed further. “I thought I would have to fight you tooth and nail to agree to this.”

Azzan ducked his head. Perhaps he’d been running and hiding for so long, he’d forgotten what it meant to stand up and fight. “I don’t know if we’re ready. I don’t know if we can ever be ready. But I think we need to start getting there.” He led Fenris inside, immeasurably relieved when the elf followed him further in without hesitation. Bodahn was just returning from the back rooms. The dwarf silently stood beside the entrance as Fenris entered, saying nothing but a cheerful greeting to the both of them. Though the older gentleman was sure to send Azzan a sly look as he passed.

“I received another letter,” he said. He looked up to his room, where the letter lay. He’d done some work in the library today, but he always took the letters to his room. As if he could hide them away from the world, and thus make them less real. He turned to Fenris, ready to ask the elf if he was willing to head upstairs, to find Fenris glaring at Bodahn. The old dwarf had his hands up in some sign of surrender. “Fenris?”

Fenris turned to him again. “A letter?” the elf asked. His lips were thin, his fingers tight around his knapsack and the parcels slowly getting crushed in his grip.

Azzan nodded. “More than one, but this last one has made the previous finally understandable.” Azzan turned away. “He must have found out. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I kept us a secret, as if I’m ashamed. I’m not. This is–”

“Hawke, you don’t have to explain.” Fenris stepped into Azzan’s space. “I knew this would happen.”

“Let’s…” Azzan looked up, toward his room. He didn’t want to talk about this in front of anyone. He didn’t even know why. Fenris didn’t even bother waiting for Azzan to finish his thought, he began walking to the steps. This time, it was Azzan trailing after Fenris. The man seemed to have gotten over his hesitance when it came to moving through Azzan’s home – their home, now, if ever Fenris wanted it to be.

He felt like an idiot, walking like a wraith in his own home. When they reached his room and stepped inside, Fenris dropped his knapsack and sword by the door and moved straight to the desk. He didn’t wait for permission – not that he needed to ask for it. It was his. Perhaps Fenris knew that. Perhaps that was why he went straight to the small pile of documents on the side of the desk, why he easily picked out the letter Azzan had crumpled twice and plucked it up with two gauntleted fingers. He read the single line without an issue. Azzan felt a horrible surge of pride, as if he owned Fenris’ growth. Then shame, and sickness, as he recognized how he was trying to take Fenris’ victory from him, and he realized that Fenris’ ability to read meant he could also see such horrible things written about him. Azzan quickly stepped toward him. “I’m–”

“If you apologize again, Hawke, I’m ripping your throat out.” Fenris growled low, but his gaze never strayed from the paper before him. Azzan ran a hand through his hair until it caught on his hairtie. He turned to his room. Maybe there was something he could do. He gaze lit on Fenris’ knapsack, but he didn’t know if Fenris wanted him touching it or not. Should he leave it there? Or would that be considered rude?

“Hawke.”

Azzan turned back. Fenris had discarded the letter again, leaving it on the table, to the side. Put away, but not forgotten. “Does this scare you?”

Unlike him, Fenris remained calm. He didn’t even seem angry, despite what Azzan’s stalker had called him. Compared to Fenris, Azzan felt like a coward. Still, he nodded. “Yes,” he breathed. “I’m afraid.”

“I understand that fear.” Azzan jerked. Fenris… yes, he would understand. He knew what it was to have someone powerful chasing after him, and to stand firm and face his pursuer, nonetheless. He would know exactly how this moment felt. “Know that I and others stand with you. You aren’t alone.”

Azzan’s heart swam. He didn’t know how else to explain the feeling – the comfort, and the knowledge that this comfort was what Azzan had granted Fenris when he’d needed it most. To know that this was what meeting him must have felt like for Fenris.

He ran his hand through his hair again. “That’s what I’m most afraid of,” he confessed, having to look away before he fell into those eyes again. They were back in his room, after all; he couldn’t help but want to touch again. “The threats have never pretended to pertain to only me. No matter how capable everyone is, we’re all alone at some point. And if…” He hesitated, then, “if this man has fallen so deep, he may try to harm all of you to get at me. He insists that he should be the one traveling with me, not all of you. If you stand in his way…” Azzan saw worse laid out before him. If this person attacked one of the others, he wouldn’t even have to kill them. The show of power would place Azzan in a position where he would have to choose whether to allow his friends to be hurt again or give in to whatever the man wanted. He knew which one he would choose.

Fenris sighed. The papers in his hand were dropped onto Hawke’s desk. The elf stalked up to him. Despite being a couple of inches shorter, Fenris always seemed to take up the whole room whenever he was like this. He placed one clawed hand on Azzan’s chest and stepped forward, close enough that the very pressure of his hand forced Azzan to take a step back. Fenris kept moving, his gaze so deep Azzan fell into it. He looked… he looked so strong. In this moment, as much as every other. Even when he floundered, Fenris always looked so strong to him. Now, with confidence behind his movements, he seemed to burn like the sun. Azzan’s heart burned to cinders, inflamed within this man’s orbit.

His knees hit the bed, and he fell.

Fenris stood above him, his lips twitching into a smirk before he tamped it down. “Hawke.” A short moment, and then, more deeply, “Azzan.” Azzan’s heart thrummed, as usual when he heard his name on those lips. “I chose a long time ago to stand beside you. Your friends all decided the same.” Fenris placed one knee beside him on the bed as he sat up. Then the other, until he was sitting on Azzan’s lap. Fenris dipped his head until there was no space between their eyes, as if the whole world was tinged that deep forest-green. “You must know this will not be the first time we put our lives on the line for something you pulled us into.”

Azzan winced. It was nothing but the truth, yet it stung, nonetheless. “If I could,” he said, “I would have it so none of us fought again.”

Fenris snorted. “I know.” The tone of his voice said he didn’t think such a world could ever exist. Neither did Azzan. Not anymore. His life before Kirkwall may have been peaceful, but the world had changed for him, and it would not turn back.

Azzan was deadly aware of Fenris’ body on top of him. He couldn’t help wrapping his arms around the base of that lean back, his fingers digging into the leather bindings at that dip mid-back, before the belt of pouches bulged out. Fenris slid his hands down his own sides to that belt. He unclipped it and pulled it loose. It dropped to Azzan’s floor with a thunk. Its contents clinked together. “Fenris.” He tried very, very hard to not show through his silk clothing just how difficult it was for him to not demand something. His heart rate sped up just at the feel of Fenris’ leather-clad hips surrounding his own. There was so little space between them, he could feel Fenris’ warmth even through his armor.

That smirk came back full-force. “Yes, Hawke?”

He took a deep breath. It still felt like there wasn’t enough air in his lungs. He wanted to feel that smirk against his lips. His fingers traced the ties binding the leather tight. “There’s… something we can do,” he said, very carefully. “Something extremely dangerous and stupid.”

Fenris snorted again. “So just an average day for you?”

Azzan tried to smile. “I suppose.” He dared to lean his head on Fenris’ shoulder. Fenris took his weight without qualm, even placed a hand on the back of his head to hold him there. He sighed. “We can… test ourselves.”

Fenris’ claws gently curled around his hairtie, pulling it out. His hair fell onto Fenris’ shoulder, covering Azzan’s face entirely. Fenris curled his hand back into the thick strands. “You have something in mind.”

“The scrolls.” He winced, even as he said it. “They speak of an evil hidden below Kirkwall.”

Fenris made a considering noise. “You would rather face that than this man?”

“No,” he said, the answer simple. “But I’d rather face that death than… than what this man may have waiting. And if we can defeat something that was so terrifying and powerful that it had been locked up instead of destroyed–”

“Then we can be reasonably certain we can defeat your enemy, as well. Very well. I agree; let’s destroy this ‘evil.’” Fenris’ fingers dipped deep into his hair, until they were tracing his scalp. Still, they didn’t cut or poke, despite the pointed ends. “And the test he’s prepared for you?”

Azzan grimaced. His hands dug into the leather, wrapped tight around Fenris’ skin. Fenris leaned his head onto Azzan’s. His lips pressed into Azzan’s hair. “I don’t trust this test. I don’t want to go at _his_ speed. If I fail, what plan would he use? He must have one; he must be ready to attack if I prove to be something other than what he wants me to be.” He breathed in. “I don’t want to hide anything, and I know you don’t want to run anymore. You’re right to want to live openly. Yet…”

Fenris sighed. “You’re so used to protecting others,” he murmured. Azzan could feel those lips move again him. He shivered. “You haven’t had to fear someone targeting you in this way before. Take it from me, Hawke. Putting it off won’t make it end or place you in a position of power or opportunity. You must face him, or else risk losing even more than you fear you will.”

Azzan closed his eyes. He knew Fenris was right. So right even Faith couldn’t argue his reasoning. He kissed the leather before him. “I know,” he whispered.

“You’re right about one thing, however,” Fenris said, raising his head again. “We shouldn’t let him dictate when we attack. If suffering this ‘test’ assures us the chance to face him on our terms, then I am not against abiding it.” Fenris swept his thumb along Azzan’s temple, pulling his hair back long enough to kiss Azzan’s temple. “So long as we do not allow him to dictate our lives anymore.”

Azzan breathed in. “Do you think we’re strong enough?”

“I believe we can be.”

Azzan smiled. In that moment, it almost seemed possible. It was true that they weren’t the same as they’d been even those few short years ago. Back then, Azzan hadn’t yet faced the Arishok alone. They hadn’t taken down a magister and his slavers. Back then, they hadn’t even thought to face an ancient magister who’d been locked up by the Grey Wardens. The very idea of chasing down some evil force beneath Kirkwall would have been laughable.

Perhaps they _could_ handle this. They weren’t who they’d used to be. After all, back then, this moment had seemed impossible. He’d never thought he’d be able to sit with Fenris like this.

“You said you received other letters?”

Azzan nodded. “One was angry, the other understanding and supportive. Then this. I don’t think he’s in control anymore. It’s only a matter of time, whether I pass this test or not. I asked Charade if she might be able to find out who he is.”

Fenris grunted. “Varric hasn’t been able to after three years. The chances she can do better are low.”

“She’s with the Red Jennies,” he said. Fenris grunted again.

“Well. Perhaps they’ll do better than trained spies.”

Azzan grinned. “Are you saying you doubt they’ll _spy_ something? That the Red Jennies can’t _train their eyes_ on someone?”

Fenris groaned. “Good to know you’re feeling better, then.”

“Can you imagine if they can’t find anything? Won’t their faces be _red!”_ he said, and leaned over just enough to be able to press a kiss to that long throat instead.

Fenris’ fingers dug that little bit deeper into his skin. “Yes, yes,” he said, but his voice was breathier, deeper than it had been a moment before. “And if they don’t?”

“This test will tell us more about him than about me,” Azzan said, and tried to make himself stop. He found himself mouthing at Fenris’ skin, his hands still clutching Fenris close. His lips found a line of lyrium. It sang up his lips and into his body, flowing like blue lightning along his limbs. He breathed in a stuttered breath and forced himself away from the feeling, even as it made his dick jump. “There can only be so many people involved in it, so many places it could be. I think, if Varric and Charade know about it, then even if I’m not able to figure it out, then maybe they could.” He forced himself to pull back so he could look Fenris in the eye. “If not… if not, then I want to make sure we’re ready.”

Fenris finally let go of Azzan’s hair, only for both hands to cup his cheeks. Claws gently carded into his hair around his ears as those thumbs traced the skin beneath Azzan’s eyes. “You’re impossible.” Those hands dipped down, forcing Azzan’s to move out of the way so Fenris could grab the bottom of his shirt and start tugging up. Azzan’s heart outpaced the rest of his body. “You do know I _just_ told you we are.”

“Yes, I know.” He helped Fenris lift his shirt off. The elf flung it to the side even as he continued speaking. “In my head, I know we can probably handle it. But if we can’t? I don’t know if he was telling the truth, that he stopped you from being targeted by something. But if he did, then that means you were in danger and there was nothing I could do about it.”

Fenris sat back on Azzan’s lap and sighed. Azzan instinctively grabbed Fenris up again, even though the elf’s balance was perfect. “There _was_ a moment when I thought the mansion was too still. I’d grabbed my sword and looked around, but there had been nothing. It is likely that whatever that man is referring to occurred then.”

Azzan had to grit his teeth to keep back his reaction. He’d just thought they might be able to handle this. But that was _together_. As he’d told Fenris before, there were too many times when they were alone.

“Enough,” Fenris said. He pushed on Azzan’s shoulders until he stopped resisting and leaned back, until his head rested on the covers. “We both know you would worry yourself into the next year if given the opportunity.”

“Are we not giving me the opportunity?” he asked. He’d brought Fenris down with him. His prize was a close-up view of Fenris’ quirked lips.

“No.”

With hands still clasped around Azzan’s face, Fenris leaned further and took Azzan’s lips in his. Azzan closed his eyes and _felt_ ; Fenris’ tongue delved deep, but instead of the slick in-and-out that Azzan had been expecting, this took its time. It curled along the edges of his mouth, slid against Azzan’s tongue as if asking it to join in. It danced. Azzan’s blood spiked until it pounded in his ears. He still wasn’t used to touching and being touched, but he tried to give Fenris what he was looking for, anyway. One hand trailed up Fenris’ back to his shoulder blades, moving fluidly beneath the leather, then up to that white tuft of hair at the nape of his neck. Tentatively, he matched his tongue to Fenris’. Somehow Fenris’ movements went even slower, his hands curling Azzan’s head up, tilting his jaw so he could reach Fenris’ tongue more easily. When he made to lick at it, Fenris, rolled his tongue along Azzan’s, from its side to its top. Teaching him. He shivered.

Slowly, without releasing him from the kiss, Fenris pulled his hands back and stripped his gauntlets off. The hung onto the bed when those hands returned, warm and unfettered, to his cheeks. Azzan nearly purred at the touch. He could feel Fenris’ lyrium, but more than that, his warmth. Wrapped in metal, those fingertips still managed to burn nearly hot to the touch. He breathed out around Fenris’ lips, their tongues pulling back only long enough to breathe in once more before meeting in swift reunion.

Eventually, their hands did more than hold; Fenris let go of Azzan’s cheeks to press lightly at his neck, just under the sides of his jaw as it lifted to his ears. Fenris traced the line of bone until it began lifting from the neck, then trailed down. Azzan swallowed, and Fenris followed the movement of his Adam’s apple with his thumb.

“You don’t mind?” Azzan found himself asking, his fingers slipping up the clasps, barely able to resist pulling at them. Fenris showed no such compunctions; he reached around and pulled at the tie at the base of his back. Azzan felt the give of leather and groaned. His fingers took over for Fenris. Only then did the elf return to Azzan’s skin, curling over his shoulders to dig into his sides. “What he said about you…”

“That fool wouldn’t know me if he had a thousand years.” Fenris kissed a trail from the side of Azzan’s lips down his stubbled jaw to his neck. “Do you think so of me?”

Azzan shuddered. “Never.”

“Then shut up and kiss me.”

Azzan smiled. He was amenable to that.

Fenris set the pace at almost glacial, leaving Azzan twitching as fingers counted each rib. His stomach jumped as Fenris reached the skin on each side of his waist, until he was writhing again, almost full-belly laughing before Fenris soothed him with light scratches and a deep kiss. Azzan finished fighting the cord on Fenris’ back and popped off the metal clasps. He parted the leather until he could feel the skin on Fenris’ back, the muscles rumbling lowly as Fenris slithered his hands back up to Azzan’s chest. He curled his hands beneath the armor until he felt the supple slide of Fenris’ scapulae beneath the pads of his fingers. Fenris’ body was hot from being confined inside the armor, nearly scorching as Azzan’s touch cooled the warm flesh. He leaned up and nibbled on the short stretch of skin on Fenris’ throat not covered by the lyrium, careful to avoid its touch again.

“ _Hawke.”_ Fenris breathed out over Azzan’s chest. He pulled back and reached toward his back. With a long arch of that spine and quick curl, Fenris divested himself of the armor. It hung between them, the breastplate heavy against Azzan’s naked stomach, before Fenris lifted himself up onto his knees and started shimmying out of even that. Azzan yelped.

“Let me,” he said, one hand reaching for Fenris’ clothing while the other reached for his pants. He wanted to try to get out of his clothes before Fenris did, to keep Fenris from that vulnerable position where he stood naked before a mage who remained dressed.

“Hawke.” Fenris pushed Azzan’s hands down to either side of his head. The elf grinned, slow and wide. “I am trying to put on a show here.”

Azzan’s eyes widened. “Oh,” he said.

Fenris released Azzan’s hands and sat back up. The man’s entire body was lined with the dull white shine of lyrium, his skin marked with scar after scar. Azzan reached his hands up to trace one of those many marks. Fenris didn’t stop him, though his eyes hooded a bit. Azzan’s touch was feather-light as he followed the wound’s trail. It looked like a thin cut – likely a dagger. He wanted to kiss it. He looked up at Fenris. This man had been on the run for years before Azzan’ had ever found him. He’d fought for a magister all that time, and in some sort of arena to earn a boon for his family before that. Had he seen battle before then, as well? He must have, to have been strong enough to catch Danarius’ eye. How many times had Fenris been wounded, without a spirit healer by his side to ensure he survived? Fenris had mentioned wounds so great that he’d fallen unconscious before the fog warriors had found him. It had been a miracle that he’d even survived.

When he thought about all that, his heart clenched. He’d been so close to never even knowing this man.

Every time he thought like that, all he could do was hold on. So he did.

He reached up and touched Fenris’ cheek. “Before the show,” he said, his voice low, “would you mind if I kissed you again?”

Azzan watched Fenris’ eyes dilate until only a sliver of green remained. He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. Azzan was already leaning up on his elbows when Fenris moved to intercept.

 _This_ one was all heat and pounding rhythm. Azzan surged into it, his hands gripped Fenris’ neck, his waist, his back, everywhere he could, anywhere where the slightest line of muscle could be gripped tight. He felt lyrium zing up his palms to his soul, lighting his mana aflame. He tried desperately to ignore it as Fenris plunged his mouth with his tongue. He licked at the retreating muscle once, only to feel Fenris groan into his mouth. He arched his back at the feeling. He chased after Fenris’ tongue then, even managed to lick deep inside Fenris’ mouth once before Fenris staged his counterattack. It was in him to roll Fenris onto his back and _take_ , to battle him there on the bed for dominance. At the very last moment, he remembered himself and stopped.

Fenris groaned again, this time in frustration, and pulled back. “Hawke. Stop…” The man pulled his teeth back. “No. I’ll _make_ you stop.”

Azan’s brows furrowed. He tried to pull away. “I’m sorry,” he said. Just like that, the fire inside him banked to ash. “I hurt you? I didn’t mean–”

“That’s just it,” Fenris said. Azzan’s heart pounded in his chest. Fenris didn’t let him leave. “You’re so busy worrying about hurting me you’re not letting either of us _feel_.” Fenris took a single look at Azzan’s uncomprehending face and sighed louder. “Back up onto the bed, Hawke. I’m going to take care of this before it goes any further.”

Wide-eyed, Azzan did as ordered. Fenris lifted his hips just enough that Azzan could wriggle out from underneath them. They were close enough that he could feel the still-hard length of Fenris’ erection. So he hadn’t blown it to such a degree that Fenris didn’t still feel desire. That was good. Probably?

Fenris didn’t follow after him as he lay his head against the pillow at the top of his bed. His pants still clung to his legs, a bit uncomfortably after the sweat that had dotted his body beneath Fenris’ own. The waistband wrapped around itself, as well, leaving the top of his butt unclothed and a hard line of cloth on its ridge. He reached to straighten it, only to stall as Fenris moved.

When Fenris had said he was trying to put on a show, Azzan had thought more of slowly seeing Fenris revealed than anything else. He had never realized that undressing could be some sort of erotic dance. Fenris had sashayed his clothing off last time. Azzan had been wide-eyed at the sight of those hips moving. But he’d never thought Fenris would – would sway from side to side like that, would push himself onto his knees and run his hands over his own chest, down his pecs to his abs and just… _play_ with the edge of his armor. He’d never thought the ties on the armor’s front could be removed so slowly, or that Fenris would ever toy with the skin revealed as if trying to make himself come with the simple touch. He’d never thought to see Fenris throw his head back, his dark gaze lidded as he stared at Azzan from across the bed.

Wasn’t he embarrassed? Azzan would have transformed into a tomato at this point. Then again, he couldn’t deny that the result was… spectacular. His gaze was caught on those hands, on the way they slipped the coat off along that waist and… Fenris bent his back until his chest paralleled the ceiling and threw his arms back. The armor just… slid. Slowly. Off. Fenris’ skin gleamed. Azzan swallowed thickly. His cock, nearly flaccid after Fenris’ words, jumped all over again. Fenris looked at him from beneath long, long lashes and smirked.

“Holy shit, Fenris,” he said. He couldn’t think of anything smarter.

Fenris chuckled. Slowly, he leaned back up. Azzan saw every single muscle ripple as he did, each movement so controlled his body looked like a cresting wave. When he finally sat straight again, the coat was gone, nothing hiding that stomach and its rolling plains from Azzan’s view. Fenris’ smirk only grew when, as he returned his hands to the line of his pants, Azzan whimpered.

His pants were tied with a thick cord. Fenris took his time with it, grabbing the knot with the nubs of his nails and licking his lips as he pulled it free. Azzan hardly knew where to focus. Once the knot had turned into nothing more than the loop first formed when connecting the two sides of cord, Fenris allowed one hand to trail back up his body to play with his own nipple. Azzan’s eyes popped wide. “Fenris,” he said, not knowing how to voice his worry. He didn’t want Fenris to treat him like he was… was some sort of master forcing his slave to entertain him. He didn’t want their relationship to be anything like what he’d been forced into before.

Fenris ran his fingers through that loop, tangling the cord around his first finger. “Hawke, if you value your life, you will not make this about anything other than you and me.”

He closed his mouth. “Yes, sir.”

That smirk returned. “Good.” Fenris played his fingers up from his nipple to his throat. He leaned his head back, trailed his hand over those lines of lyrium on his throat, and slowly let the loop of his belt loosen. Azzan was graced with a new swath of skin to ogle, along with watching those long, white-lined digits dance along the lines Azzan had forced himself to avoid so far. He imagined touching them like that himself. He could almost feel the blue lightning spark along his nerves. Watching Fenris touch them made him wonder if Fenris _liked_ being touched there. Did he _want_ Azzan to touch the lyrium? If he did, would he be able to control his magic’s response to it, for Fenris’ sake?

Fenris splayed the opening of his pants wide, just wide enough for Azzan to notice he’d chosen to wear nothing underneath. The lines of lyrium slid down to the juncture of those hips, so close Azzan wanted to know if they would spark against his cheeks if he tried taking Fenris in his mouth the way Fenris had him last time. Wiry hairs, thinner than Azzan’s yet as dark as Fenris’ eyebrows – the second hint of the color that hair once was, before Danarius got his disgusting hands on Fenris – led down like an arrow to a place not yet uncovered.

Fenris turned around.

Azzan actually opened his mouth to protest. He practically bit his tongue clicking his mouth closed again. The shimmy he needed to turn around hadn’t been quite as graceful as his other movements, but – but then Azzan got to see Fenris shake his ass to get his pants off, and that – that was more than enough to get his mouth watering. His gaze zeroed in.

Fenris had ordered him to not think about anyone else but them. At the moment, Azzan was thinking of little else but getting his hands on Fenris. Apparently he was very good at doing as Fenris told.

Those pants finally slid down, revealing dark skin and long, swirling pale lines. Muscles bunched in those thighs, exacerbating the dip from torso to hip. Fenris’ was a streamlined body, one built for sleek lines and gentle hills. His ass was a sharp swell that firmed along its thickest plains, only to dip just as sharply down into the lines of his legs. His pants bunched up at his knees, where they rested on the bed. In order to take them off entirely, Fenris leaned forward until one of his hands curled around the bottom of the bed. The other reached back. His legs weren’t stretched wide, but Azzan could still see the silhouette of Fenris’ balls as Fenris cupped them, only to slide his hand back along the seam of his ass. Azzan nearly choked.

Fenris followed the line of his own leg to the pants and arced his back again. It was while he was on his toes that he pulled the pants down to his ankles, then when he leaned back onto his knees that he pulled them the rest of the way off. By that time, Azzan was actually staring at the soles of Fenris’ feet as if those were somehow erotic, too. He might have gone at least slightly mad.

“Fenris, please.” He reached out. He couldn’t help it. Fenris might have wanted to put on this show for Azzan, but the idea of waiting any longer made him ache. Fenris straightened once more, one hand dropping his pants to the side by the rest of his armor. Only then did he turned to face Azzan.

Fully naked, unabashed, Fenris looked down upon him from the edge of the bed. He looked like some autumnal god, come to slake his thirst before the world slid into hibernation, with Azzan to be the sacrifice. He smiled up at his blue-flamed god. “I already knew you were beautiful, Fenris,” he said.

Fenris searched his face for something. Whatever he saw, it made him grin almost wickedly. “Yes,” he said, his voice slow. He crawled up the bed to lean on hands and knees above Azzan. Azzan couldn’t stop his gaze from watching the slow bob of Fenris’ cock. “Then again,” he continued, his voice so thick it sounded more like a growl, “you never looked at me like that before.”

Azzan gazed sloe-eyed from Fenris’ waist to his throat up to his beautiful eyes. “What?” He scrunched his brow. “How?”

Fenris leaned in so close. So close. He was all Azzan could see. “Like you could devour me.”

Azzan’s breath stilled in his chest. Panic fluttered in his throat for a second. Until he saw the hunger in Fenris’ eyes. The hunger that said he wanted to devour Azzan, too.

“Oh,” he said again. He still didn’t feel very smart.

Fenris chuckled. He put his hands on Azzan’s chest, kneaded the muscles there until Azzan was quivering. “Well? Do you want to start?” Fenris looked down, his gaze pausing on Azzan’s shoulders, his chest. “Or should I?”

Despite the words, Fenris didn’t give him the chance to react. He just dug in. His hands slid from Azzan’s chest to his waist, holding him steady as Fenris slid his tongue across Azzan’s collarbone. He bit. Azzan gasped at the sting of pain, only for Fenris to soothe it once more. The muscles he’d been forced to watch move were suddenly hot against his skin. He reached up for them, touched the back of Fenris’ thighs until his fingers curled over the base of Fenris’ buttocks. He couldn’t help squeezing, testing the firmness there. The skin felt so soft. He leaned up and kissed Fenris’ forehead, his temple, anywhere he could reach while Fenris licked down to his nipple and sucked.

Azzan fingers clenched into that warm heat, only to dip into the crevice between. He sucked in a sharp breath as the heat on his fingers increased. Fenris spread his legs wide to accommodate. Azzan hissed. He could almost feel the origin of that overwhelming heat, just barely touching his right middle finger. If he moved it a scant millimeter more, he was certain he would find the pucker to Fenris’ hole.

He wanted to be inside. He wanted to feel that heat all around him, to feel those muscles move on him the way they’d promised to just moments before. He could barely catch his breath.

But he didn’t want to take. He didn’t want to be that kind of person. This was all so new, and it would only last so long. He wanted to show Fenris how much he was loved. How much he meant. When he left, there would be no doubt in Fenris’ mind that he deserved all the love in the world.

Fenris bit him again, a tiny bit harder, or perhaps it felt so on his sensitive nipple. Azzan hissed, only to arch his back as Fenris’ nails dragged down his sides. He clenched his own hands harder, only to feel that tight, nubbed ring against his finger, just as he’d thought he would. His hips jerked, his mind thinking only of getting inside that – he hissed and shoved the urge back down where it belonged. Faith, for a moment, even offered to help – an action that would break their agreement on him being in charge of his emotions. He knew better than to allow that slippery slope. He refused.

His hands didn’t move.

Fenris bit him again, nibbled along the wound until his teeth were wet enough to feel smooth, yet sharp enough to make his skin hyper-aware of every movement. Those nails clenched and unclenched at his torso, just above the line of his pants. Without even removing them, those hands slid lower. Suddenly the heat of Fenris’ skin was muted by the silken slide of cloth. He gritted his teeth at the new sensation. Every time he’d touched himself, he’d pushed down his pants, if not ridding himself of them entirely. He remembered the feel of Fenris’ leather pushing his erection around before, but he’d never thought something as simple as touch through the material on his thighs could make him so unstable.

He tried to reciprocate, but there wasn’t a place he could touch that didn’t have lyrium singing to him. His attempts to find a place to make Fenris feel good all ended up with _him_ feeling good. Meanwhile, Fenris was practically chewing on his abs, sliding from one part of his stomach to the next, almost as if he couldn’t choose where to focus.

Fenris’ impatience fueled his own. He remembered this high – the first night Fenris had come to him. A night where Fenris had needed to forget, to feel _good_ , if only for a moment. Was Fenris in that place again? Even though Fenris had proclaimed his desire to stand with him, even in the face of danger, did Fenris still feel a need to escape for a little while? Was it right for Azzan to lose himself like this, when Fenris was in such a state?

He needed pleasure. He needed to _feel_. Azzan… Azzan could give that to him.

He gripped Fenris under his arms, around his waist. Just enough to show what it was he meant to do. Fenris paused for a moment, looking up. “I can… I can try something,” Azzan said. His voice came in odd, reedy gasps, as if floundering for enough air to breathe. It sounded oddly guttural. His fingers clenched, just for an instant, to show what he was waiting for.

Fenris tilted his head slightly. Those eyes of his were still almost black, so dark Azzan thought he could almost see himself in them. Fenris seemed to search for something in his eyes, as well. Azzan clamped down on his own desires, despite how tempting it had been to move his finger just that scant bit further. His dick jumped before he could stop it, and he bit his lip. This was about – about _them_. About him, and Fenris, and what he could give Fenris. Nothing else. Nothing…

_He wanted inside._

He parted his lips. His breath was hot in his lungs when he said, “let me give this to you?”

Fenris let go of Azzan long enough to wipe one thumb over his cheekbone. “All right. But next time, I’m not letting you talk your way out of it.”

Azzan didn’t understand, but he didn’t want Fenris to think he was rethinking things. Slowly, careful to make sure Fenris knew what he was doing and could stop him if he wished, Azzan began to roll over. Fenris didn’t fight or flinch, but the moment he was on his back and Azzan lay above him, he tensed. Azzan quickly shimmied down Fenris body, lightly kissing his chest above his pounding heart, then moved further down.

He didn’t want to hold some position of authority over Fenris, even in a simply metaphorical way. Fenris’ fists clenched. Azzan knew he was trying to hide the trembling. Whatever Fenris had been talking about, it didn’t matter as much as letting the man know Azzan intended no harm. He wanted only to give Fenris pleasure, to make him happy. He wouldn’t take from him. He wouldn’t demand anything. He wouldn’t let this be about anything but them.

He didn’t know what to do. He’d only experienced it once, thanks to Fenris. He’d never been so close with someone; he’d always feared losing control and showing them his magic, or them feeling it, or somehow finding out. So even though he’d been attracted to people before, even though he stole a kiss once, at night, in the glade on Lothering’s outskirts – even though he’d experienced firsts before Fenris, he had never experienced this one. He tried to remember what Fenris had done, then, knowing he wouldn’t be able to live up to that, simply decided to… try.

Fenris’ cock was different than his. His was thicker, while Fenris’ was more slim. He thought Fenris’ might be longer, but perhaps that was because it looked long for being so much thinner. It surged up from the base, curved slightly upwards, just enough for him to see the vein throbbing along its underside. He could feel the tension still radiating through Fenris’ body and lightly kissed the tip. Fenris arced his back and cursed. Azzan quickly pulled back. “Are you all right?”

“ _Fenedhis, Hawke!_ Yes!”

Azzan smiled. When he licked his lips, he tasted something he’d never tasted before. Salty, yet with a powerful flavor that he couldn’t place. He looked back down at Fenris’ cock to find the head weeping slightly. He tried to lick it up and had Fenris cursing up a storm. The elf’s hands gripped his hair. _“More, Hawke!”_

He licked again, then, taking a chance, opened his mouth and slipped the tip into his mouth.

He was surprised more by the _heat_ of it than anything else. The skin was silk in his mouth, so smooth it almost seemed like smoke, if not for the taste that spilled onto his tongue. Fenris groaned. He looked up to see the long arch of that beautiful neck as Fenris pushed his head back into the pillows.

That taste burst out from the slit, pooling onto the back of his tongue. He struggled for a moment to swallow it without letting his teeth touch that vulnerable skin. His heart raced at what he was doing. He remembered how it felt to have Fenris’ mouth wrapped around him. He remembered the startling intensity as his already sensitive cock had felt that moist heat. He wanted to give that to Fenris, but he didn’t want to force Fenris still like Fenris had needed to do for him. Holding Fenris down might cause someone else to invade their space.

Testing, he dared stick the tip of his tongue on the base of the cock. It still tasted salty, but not as strongly as the cum. It was sweat. He’d tasted it before, yet for some reason it seemed different now. Likely just perception. The cinnamon scent that somehow lingered to Fenris’ skin was stronger here, yet less easily defined. He licked again, wondering if he would be able to taste that scent on his tongue if he lapped up enough of the sweat. Fenris made a deep, almost angry moan. _“Hawke!”_

Right. Fenris wanted more.

Even though he hadn’t thought Fenris’ cock was thick, his jaw was already starting to hurt from keeping it wide open for so long. He imagined trying to take more into his mouth and thought it impossible. But Fenris had done it, so it was. Carefully, he opened his mouth as wide as he could, trying to keep his teeth away from it.

“Curl your lips,” Fenris said. Azzan nearly jumped. Those hands stopped clenching so hard on his scalp. Fingers rubbed at the area they’d just yanked. “Curl them over your teeth and – ahh!” Azzan, taking Fenris’ lesson into consideration, did as told and tested how deep he could take the cock then. It felt odd to keep his lips in such a position, but if he stretched his jaw, he could take a large portion of that silken heat without choking. Not all, however. He reached up and held the base of it, testing how much was left. Nearly his whole hand could wrap around it still. All right. He would back up and try again.

He slurped off of Fenris’ cock, surprised at how messy it was. He licked his lips. His spit was everywhere. He must look like a moron. He chanced a glance up and found dark eyes glittering down at him. His heart pounded. That was not the look of a man who thought he was looking at an idiot.

He licked his lips again. All right. Time to get serious.

As much as he deliberated over his actions, he still found himself battling back the urge to touch himself. Even though he still wore his silk pants, he felt constricted and imprisoned within them. The moment he slid back down Fenris’ length, he felt that excitement rear up within him again. Fenris made a long ‘hnn’ sound as Azzan slid back down to the edge of his hand. If he struggled, he could take it in a little further, but it took away his ability to breathe. To go any further, he would have to conquer his gag reflex.

He kept trying, even though he couldn’t manage to go any further. Fenris’ hips kept making aborted movements, snapping up and then pushing back down into the mattress. Trying to keep from choking Azzan. He could feel the throbbing of that vein every time he pulled back, until he couldn’t help licking at it. Fenris squirmed beneath him.

He felt… powerful. He felt like he was superhuman. And yet, watching Fenris slowly fall apart beneath him, he felt more like he was holding something precious. If he could, he would keep Fenris safe and protected all his life. The thought was preposterous, considering what they’d been talking about just minutes earlier. Still, it was what he felt when he kissed along the line of that vein, and when he took Fenris deep once again, he found himself palming his own erection beneath his trousers.

His jaw ached horribly by the time he’d learned enough of rhythm and control to start really pumping Fenris the way the elf had done to him before. Fenris wriggled beneath him, somehow breathless as Azzan stumbled through the maneuvers. Still, a choked noise preceded a sudden jerk of those lean hips. Azzan fought to control his need to cough long enough to pull back. Fenris quickly let go of his head. “Azzan…” But Azzan wouldn’t wait to continue. That tone of voice said hesitation. Fear. Danarius was entering the room, and Azzan wouldn’t let him. Here, in this space, Fenris would be safe from him.

The second jut of those hips forced Azzan’s hand to twist. Fenris gasped loudly. He looked up, afraid he’d hurt him. Instead he felt liquid pool so thickly down the back of his throat he nearly choked again. Fenris was close. That’s what that gasp was. Fenris tugged on his hair, trying to force Azzan off of him. He thought he understood why. He pulled back up, just enough to speak. His lips brushed Fenris’ weeping head. “I want to taste you. Feel you. May I?”

He looked up, but he needn’t. Fenris threw his head back and groaned. “Maker, Azzan, how are you real?”

He smiled. “You _real_ ly have to ask me that?”

The groan cut off into a broken laugh. Fenris threw a hand over his eyes. “Urgh. Never mind.”

It didn’t take long. Fenris’ laughter shook his entire body, making the cock tremble in his mouth when he took it again. This time, when he delved deep, he twisted his hand again. Thinking about it, he pulled his hand up as he slid away, then pushed it back down when he returned. Another twist and those bucking hips started trembling. “Hawke, I’m going to…”

He curled over Fenris as completely as he could. His own erection hurt; no matter how hard he rubbed, it only made his own desire flame higher. He ignored it long enough to wrap his arm around Fenris’ back and suck as hard as he could. Fenris actually _keened_ as he bucked up again, then again, unable to control himself any longer. Azzan struggled not to choke, only to feel Fenris’ cum suddenly coat the inside of his throat. He had to pull back to cough his airway free. Fenris, still in the throes of his orgasm, tried to lean up to help. Without thinking, Azzan pushed him down. The moment he got his breath back, he leaned back down and licked up what he’d missed. It was a shame that he’d lost his chance to do this properly, but the feeling boiling inside of him would not let Fenris feel ashamed or afraid. Even with his own cock still unreleased, he found himself rubbing those trembling thighs beneath him soothingly, his tongue curling around the wilting cock as it spasmed through its final tremors.

Fenris tugged on him. Azzan was surprised by the strength, even though those limbs trembled through aftershocks. He let himself be led up, surprised when Fenris kissed him. He still had the taste of Fenris on his tongue; he knew Fenris was able to taste it, as well. Yet Fenris nearly crushed Azzan in place above him, wrapping his legs around Azzan’s waist as he sucked hard on Azzan’s tongue. Azzan’s jaw hurt, his throat was sore, and he felt so hot he was amazed he wasn’t melting. But Fenris was moving as if he wasn’t tired in the slightest, and there was something about him right then that made the blood in Azzan’s veins race. Fenris bucked his hips and shifted his center of balance. Just like that, Azzan was on his back once more.

Fenris pulled back, his eyes alight as they searched Azzan’s face. “You…” He said, but he didn’t seem to know how to finish. He kissed Azzan again. It was as if he was searching for the back of Azzan’s soul. Azzan bucked up, nearly whimpering as the furnace of his erection did little more than rub over Fenris’ body. He wanted – no, it had become a need. Yet he didn’t know how to ask. Fenris was done. They were done. It was over. He needed to… to take care of himself. No matter how good Fenris’ smile felt against his lips, he needed to go or else he felt like he would explode.

Fenris ground his hips down on Azzan’s erection. He broke the kiss off with a gasp.

Fenris smirked down at him. “Did you forget about yourself, Hawke?”

“Hard to at the moment,” he said. Fenris rolled his eyes.

“Another pun, Hawke? Really?”

He hadn’t even meant to make that one, but he grinned at it, anyway. “I’m just giving you a _hard_ time. Is it _hard_ to take?”

His lover groaned. “Please, Maker, shut up.” He barely managed to chuckle before Fenris kissed him again. Fenris licked up his laughter even as he started doing that _thing_ with his hips again. The fire grew tight so quickly Azzan found himself spreading his legs and curling around Fenris in a matter of moments. He hugged Fenris against him until he was breathing into the elf’s shoulder. Still, the edge didn’t tip over into ecstasy. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth.

Hawke,” Fenris whispered. Breath fanned over Azzan’s ear, down the nape of his neck. He held Azzan’s thighs and ground, hard. Azzan hissed. He could feel Fenris’ member, unable to harden yet, rubbing softly against him. He squirmed, knowing how sensitive that felt after release.

Fenris shoved a hand down Azzan’s pants and wrapped it around his cock. On a high-pitched cry, he came.

The feel of his orgasm, of Fenris’ lightning-tipped skin, ripped through him like a whirlwind. He felt it beneath his bones, in his blood, bubbling within his very magic. He shuddered, his hands clinging to Fenris’ back. His nails scored into a line of lyrium. He felt it wrap around his magic and sweep him up. His very bones seemed to tremble with the wave of power. His teeth rattled. It ripped through him, surged down to his cock until he was coming all over again, caught up in wave after wave of energy. It nearly burned him, even as he felt the world white out around him. It felt so good it almost hurt.

Barely, he remembered where he was and what he was doing. Fenris. He gasped and tamped down on his magic before it could – before it could rear up any more strongly than it already had. He opened his eyes, afraid his loss of control had pushed Fenris away, the way he knew it eventually would. But no. Fenris still held him. He could even feel those fingers carding through his hair, hear that voice whisper in his ear. He shuddered one last time and went limp in Fenris’ arms. He had no idea how the elf managed to find any excess energy when he came. Lately, Azzan felt as if every orgasm ripped him from the earth and left him adrift. He realized he’d bitten down on the meat of Fenris’ shoulder and kissed it in apology. “Thank you.”

Despite the pain he must have caused Fenris with that bite, his voice sounded amused. “No puns?”

He dredged up a smile. Maybe he’d gotten his magic under control in time. Maybe it hadn’t touched Fenris. It hadn’t last time, either, and he’d let it go on longer then. “What? You’ll let me? Have you _gone soft?”_

Fenris laughed. Actually laughed, full tilt. Then he nuzzled Azzan’s neck, around his jawline to his ear. “I _hate_ your sense of humor.”

“But you don’t seem _out of humor,_ ” he noted. Fenris lightly bit the side of his neck. He jumped. “Hey!”

“No more,” he said, then leaned up. His grin was so wide Azzan found himself caught within it. He couldn’t help smiling goofily back. “I’d wanted… well. Next time, I’ll make certain it’s you in that position.”

Underneath him? Or having Fenris’ mouth around him? Either sounded good to him. “Would… would you like to stay? For the night?”

Fenris’ grin dimmed a bit as he studied Azzan’s face again. “Hawke, did you not understand what it meant when I brought my things here?”

He looked toward the edge of the bed, toward the place where Fenris’ knapsack sat by the door. “Oh. So you’ll stay for the night, then.” He smiled. He wanted that happy morning again. Maybe this time he could cook for Fenris.

“Hawke. Azzan.” Fenris cupped Azzan’s face in his hand, slowly bringing Azzan’s attention back to him. Fenris smiled. “You have this mistaken.”

Azzan frowned. No morning together? His heart lurched. Was he leaving? Was this some sort of goodbye? No. No, because Fenris had said he was going to stay and help Azzan fight. It wasn’t that. He just planned on going somewhere else tonight. It was a stupid, small thing, but he didn’t want to wake up alone. “All right,” he said, and forced himself to sound as if it was. Even if it meant Fenris was going somewhere. Without him.

Fenris sighed. His other hand came up to his other cheek. He thunked his head against Azzan’s. When he sighed, it swept over Azzan’s face. Oddly enough, he felt protected. As if Fenris had wrapped him up in his arms like a shield. “Azzan.” Fenris commanded his gaze with nothing than his own. “I’m not going anywhere else. Ever again.”

Azzan stared for a very long time. Fenris let him, until finally the words seeped into the cracks of his brain. He grinned wildly. “Really?” he asked. Like a five-year-old. Fenris grinned back.

“Yes, Hawke. Really.”

He hugged Fenris. The elf let out a little, “oof,” but otherwise didn’t complain. Azzan laughed. Maybe Fenris didn’t love him _as much_ as he loved Fenris, but Fenris loved him and wanted to move in, despite everything that was happening. Despite the rising tensions in Kirkwall. Despite the stalker. Despite his mad scheme to pick a fight with some unknown evil. Despite him being a mage.

It was good. It was good enough. It was _great_.

“Hawke,” Fenris said, his voice muffled within Azzan’s arms. “Azzan. I would prefer to get cleaned up?” When Azzan finally let him go, Fenris smirked. “Specifically,” he said, and snapped the waistband of Azzan’s pants, “I want to lie down with you naked.”

Azzan flushed, but he couldn’t help grinning. “But you’ve already caught me _with my pants down._ ”

Fenris groaned. _“Hawke.”_ Azzan tried to laugh, but Fenris’ insistent lips wouldn’t let him.

They managed to get to sleep, eventually. They even managed to eventually get Azzan’s pants off. But they didn’t get very clean.


End file.
